


Runic Tapping into Ancient Earthmagicks

by Depraved Necromancer (DragonaireAbsolvare)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Books, Bottom Voldemort (Harry Potter), Crack, Draco somehow has to deal with it, Hidden Desires, Horny Harry, Horny Voldemort, Humour, M/M, Monsterfucker Harry, Naga, Not Canon Compliant, Porn, Porn With Plot, Scene Gone Wrong, Secrets, Smut, Top Harry Potter, actual monsterfuckery, actual snake parts, diverges from book 5 end, no really- it's a proper tag, talks about monster dicks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:20:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26144023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonaireAbsolvare/pseuds/Depraved%20Necromancer
Summary: Voldemort chances upon a book in the Malfoy Library.It's such a wondrous, magical book, and it wasn't meant to fall into his hands in the first place. But it did.And now the unfortunate Draco Malfoy has to deal with the consequences.And somehow, as always, Harry Potter is involved.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Voldemort
Comments: 24
Kudos: 209





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arualiaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arualiaa/gifts).



Lord Voldemort strode purposefully through the halls of Malfoy Manor. He was working on renewing the Dark Headquarters; until then, the manor would have to suffice.

Ever since that blasted prophesy had escaped his hands, the Dark Lord had been in an increasingly sour mood. Potter and his insipid little minions had filched the thing from the Department of Mysteries, and Lucius, the moron, let them slip right under his nose!

Honestly, how hard was it to grab a ball from a schoolboy? An _Accio_ could have done the job- Salazar, Nagini could have done a better job than that vain peacock!

The Dark Lord’s fury was palpable throughout the manor these days, and the magic exceptionally thick in the sweltering summer heat. It was Lucius’ punishment, phrased mockingly as an ‘honour’ to host the Dark Lord in his worst moods.

He was almost at the library when he glimpsed the Malfoy boy fleeing the opposite way.

Coward.

It didn’t take a genius to notice that Draco was scared witless of him and the Azkaban escapees who were also being housed there. Perhaps he should ask Bella to get reacquainted with her nephew?

The library was large and well-lit; redesigned by Brutus the Third, Abraxas’ grandfather, if he remembered right. There were all sorts of books- from the child-friendly story section to old, dusty volumes, the possession of which could result in a three-year term in Azkaban.

Lord Voldemort’s books of interest were in the runic warding, and he headed there, piling up copies of Spellman’s Syllabary (not that he needed it; but better safe than sorry), Runic Reinforcement and the three volumes of Gaelic Wardstone Systems in his arms.

These were the standard books for drawing a warding circle, but then an obscure, leather-bound book caught the Dark Lord’s eye.

There was no title, but flipping through the first few pages, he realised it was on string-runes connecting the wardstone to the Earth’s mantle- where the constant flow of molten lava churned and transformed the nature of the warding magic so often, that it made a nigh impenetrable shield. Intrigued, the Dark Lord added it to his pile, and then levitated the books to his suite.

Half an hour later, Draco Malfoy crept to the library and began turning the shelves over in search of a book.

Keeping it in the library had been his safest bet. It wasn’t something he wanted to see, but there was no night after dawn. There was no turning back.

The book had been dangerous in his room; where the elves could easily chance upon it and report it to his parents. Sometimes, he honestly wished Wizarding society wasn’t so straight-laced about everything.

He had swapped the covers and hidden it in the library, so that he could browse through the pages at his leisure and even if it was found, it would not be traced back to him- for it belonged to Zabini, that Merlin-damned tease, who had thought it would be fun to toss a porn mag into Draco’s trunk.

Back in the Opal Suite, Lord Voldemort stretched on his bed with a bowl of dried fruits, rapturously poring over the pages of the nameless book- there were so many things that he hadn’t known existed. He hadn’t known magic could be extracted from the Earth’s inner field with the right ores and runic array, nor that a bronze spear pushed deep into the centre of a concentric ring array could channel magic out to recharge wardstones.

He turned the page, expecting a diagram of the concentric array.

What he was not expecting, however, was a full-colour spread of a twink flexing his tanned buttocks and licking a crimson, phallic acid pop.

Voldemort choked on his dried apricot and flung the book away; quickly regaining the presence of mind to grab his wand from the bedside table to vanish the fruit blocking his throat. He seized the jug of water beside, and took large gulps directly from it.

And then returned his gaze to the offending object.

The book lay innocently on the bed, flashing the image of the bronzed man wiggling his buttocks and winking at him.

Porn- that’s what it was, full colour, animated wizarding gay porn.

The Dark Lord cautiously levitated the blasphemous book to get a closer look- not that he was interested in it, you see, but because that picture had no business inside an ancient book on runic Earthmagicks. He looked at it curiously, Occluding furiously and schooling his expression into a very neutral, distant one.

“Reveal your secrets.” Voldemort said calmly, tapping the page with his wand.

A title flashed- ‘SECRET DESIRE ♡’

And a subtitle- ‘Delve into your heart’s hidden desires!’

The Dark Lord gaped at the audacious declaration.

He had heard of research on the Mirror of Erised, when he was apprenticing at an artificers’ guild in Northern France, and then he had encountered the real thing five years ago, while possessing Quirrel’s body. The Mirror wasn’t a myth. It worked the way the research books said it would- but to date, there hadn’t ever been a successful replica.

There was no way this accursed book could have achieved that, could it?

Fingers still cold despite the racing heat in his chest, Voldemort waved his wand and flipped the pages. ‘Bountiful, bootiful, page 3’ read the contents page, ‘Featuring an exclusive photoshoot of Shaggy Bee, page 6. Watch Threesome Treesome, page 13- brand new half-an-hour motion picture!’

The Dark Lord gulped, his pale cheeks flushed and hot.

There was no way the book would have known.

He hadn’t thought about it in ages- nearly half a century. Surely his desire wasn’t to watch a couple of muscly men fuck each other?

It was like tasting the forbidden fruit. Voldemort was falling into the giant can of worms, _yet again,_ and he couldn't do anything about it- couldn't tear his eyes off the sight, couldn't pull his hand from flipping the pages, couldn't stop his other hand from unlacing his trousers and taking himself in hand, moving to the pace of the large, purple dick fucking the ginger twink into the mattress.

Oh, Salazar, he was doomed.

Later, when he was flopped on the bed, all spent and exhausted and the 'Runic Earthmagick' book soiled with his seed, Voldemort began to think of how, in his innocent youth, had stumbled across an abandoned classroom where the Hufflepuff Prefect, Stanley Davies was sodomising a loud, filthy-mouthed Orion Black.

Young Tom Riddle had been doing his night-time rounds as a Prefect, but that night, he couldn't do any rounds at all. He stood there, as quiet as a mouse, hidden behind one of the pilasters, transfixed at the sight of Orion Black panting and moaning, legs thrown over Davies' shoulders.

Before he knew it, he had spilled onto his trousers- untouched, though Tom would never admit it even in the face of death- and he waited until Davies and Black were gone before daring to wave his wand and silently clean the evidence of his- whatever that was- away.

He could not sleep that week. Unbidden, the images of the two boys burned into his eyes, until that was all he could see, in the class, in the halls, everywhere. He could not look Davies nor Black in the eyes for days.

Eventually, Tom decided he had been tormented enough, and stunned Davies in the corridors, stuffing the boy into a broom cupboard for the caretaker to find. He had nicked some Polyjuice from Slughorn's Sixth-year classroom- and dropped a handful of Davies' blond hair into the potion. Once the transformation was complete, he stripped the prefect of his clothes and donned them, before heading into the classroom where Orion Black waited.

The boy mewled under his experimental touches, far too addled by the hand on his dick, and while Tom could not replicate the rough sex that Black was used to, he could satisfy the boy in other ways. Afterwards, a quick Confundus took care of the rest.

Alas- Orion Black's tight arse could not satisfy Tom beyond getting him off, and his mind kept wandering to the classroom again. How would it have been like, if Davies had been the one doing _him?_

The thought fled his head as quickly as it came-

The charismatic and powerful Tom Riddle, with a destiny of greatness written in the stars, whoring himself in the bed of a lesser man?

Absurd.

But his body would not yield as easily as his mind- and every night, Tom was plagued with dreams of being banged out of his wits, by varying nameless, faceless boys. So, he stopped sleeping, preferring to spend his nights reading another tome on necromancy, or blood-magic. And when the insomnia began showing on his face, the Mediwizard forced a vial of Dreamless Sleep on him, and sent him off to bed.

But Dreamless Sleep was addictive, and Tom would not be given any more when he asked.

He always went to watch Davies and Black in that classroom until he graduated.

~

Voldemort hid the little Book of Secret Desires in his pocket for safekeeping, and when he was tired of reading or dealing with incompetent followers, he would lock himself in his study and 'read' the book. And pleasure himself.

Of course, his mind occasionally wandered, and he would wonder how it was like to be on the receiving end. Ever since he immersed himself fully in the Dark Arts and attained this serpentine form, he had lost interest in worldly activities like copulation. It was alarming that one little book could push him back into such activities; but it was a guilty pleasure that he did not mind, as long as no one found out.

(Merlin, he dreaded to think of the day Bellatrix found out that he had such needs.)

Eventually, he was so used to the book that he could read it with a straight face and restful hands. So he began to get bolder, reading in the dining hall during Death Eater meetings, in the tea room with Narcissa present, in the garden...

It gave him a sense of triumph and thrill to read in public and pretend he was reading 'Ancient Runic Earthmagick'.

~

Draco Malfoy reined in his shudders as he headed to the tea room where he was to meet with the Dark Lord. His mother was sure that he was going to be given an impossible mission- to jeopardise his family and punish his father.

It felt like he was being walked on the plank.

He steeled his nerves and knocked on the tea room, his mother close behind.

The Dark Lord was waiting, and the man gestured them to sit. The conversation was excruciatingly slow- and the Dark Lord intended to exchange pleasantries before delivering the final blow. With a dry throat, Draco talked about his OWL scores, occasionally taking a small sip of tea to ease his throat when it became too obvious.

The Dark Lord was reading a leather-bound book, it seemed. Upon closer inspection by his wandering gaze, he spluttered, spitting out his mouthful of tea.

That book- it couldn't be...?!?

The Dark Lord reluctantly lifted his eyes off the book- (reluctantly, oh Merlin- it had to be the damned porn mag!) and gazed deep into Draco's eyes.

The slitted pupils narrowed. "Narcissa, your presence is no longer required." He said coldly, glancing at the lady. "I wish to speak to your son _alone."_

Narcissa's fingers tightened on Draco's shoulders, trying to impart some strength, or so it seemed, and he watched as his mother closed the tea room door and left him alone with that monster of a man.

"Speak." The Dark Lord hissed, venom lacing his voice.

"M-My Lord?" Draco choked out.

The Dark Lord flashed the porn mag in his face. "You know this book!"

Draco panicked and lied through his teeth: "No, I've never seen it before, my Lord."

One clawed, scaly hand grabbed his jaw brusquely- "Lies! I have seen it in your head. _You_ put the book there! Tell me, boy, _what_ sorcery is it?"

Draco stared, dumbstruck, as the Dark Lord ranted on about how he hadn't been able to sleep or put the book down ever since he chanced upon the 'Book of SECRET DESIRE ♡'.

Horrified, Draco realised what the feeling bubbling up in his belly was- pity. Mixed with some guilt and plain, silly amusement, as the Dark Lord hissed and spat about how the book would not change to show anything else- like food, if he was hungry.

And then, to add to his troubles, it dawned upon him that the Dark Lord probably thought gay porn was his 'heart's desire'.

Oh, Morgana's tits, Blaise would have the time of his life if he ever heard this.

As if reading his thoughts, the Dark Lord suddenly stopped mid-rant and turned sharply, wand at Draco's throat.

"You will not tell a soul about this." He snarled, baring fangs and black, forked tongue.

Draco suddenly remembered who he was talking to. "Y-yes, Milord." He stammered out.

"I require an oath." The Dark Lord said, wand still on point until the oath was made to the monster's satisfaction.

Upon realising that his life would be forfeit if word got around that the Dark Lord was buying gay porn, Draco collected his Slytherin sensibilities and began weaving together an elaborate net of half-truths in response to the barrage of questions the poor monster was firing at him.

Yes, it was a magic book- and not a Muggle thing.

No, it wasn't one of a kind.

Yes, it only showed the Dark Lord's deepest, darkest secret desire- _well, if the man really desired to bugger someone, that is._

Yes, Draco could procure more 'magic books' for the Dark Lord.

No, if _Draco_ was the one getting them, no one would realise it was the Dark Lord's secret. (He was held at wand point again for that cheeky remark.)

Draco wisely left out the mention of a third party, and the serpentine man was so ecstatic at the realisation that he had just secured more wank material to notice.

He'd have to involve Blaise, but that was okay. Blaise already had suspicions about Draco's sexuality- not that he'd ever let the saucy arsehole reveal it to anyone. His parents would murder him, and his family name would be disgraced in Pureblood society if the only heir came out as queer.

Which is exactly why it felt good to have the Dark Lord on his side.

But beyond that, he realised he felt sorry, kind-of, for the monster of a man, who was probably a virgin (or a prude) to not recognise the book for what it was- and for falling into Draco's lies so easily.

Of course, in the following days, Draco would floo over to Blaise's summer home in the Mediterraneans once a month, and leave with a well-disguised package in his robes. He'd drop them off in the Runic section of the library, inside a thick, untitled, leather-bound volume and pray that it wasn't Lucius Malfoy who discovered them.

This system worked well enough to save his skin, and Draco's only regret was that he couldn't read the porn mags properly while switching the covers. Eventually, the covers grew in numbers to fill a small book by themselves, and he regretfully handed them over as well.

~

The new book was...

Overwhelming.

The Dark Lord watched, kneeling beside his bed and slitted pupils blown open, as the gorgeous brunet on the book spread his legs and began to scissor himself up.

Voldemort flushed- he wanted to try it out _so very much,_ but there was so little privacy. It was the Malfoy house. If Lucius decided to stride into the room, the manor would open the door for him, all of the Dark Lord's privacy spells be damned.

Eventually, need overcame modesty (Ha, modesty- that was the least of his concern, or so he told himself) and the Dark Lord used his bath oil to loosen up his sphincter. A whispered cleaning charm took care of the insides- he winced: cleaning the inside wasn't pleasant at all.

Voldemort made a mental note to find something other than 'Scourgify': something that would not leave him raw like he had just peeled of a layer of epidermis.

The bath oil was much better- he had specially asked the elves for a special numbing and massaging oil to counter the various aches in his neck and back after a long day.

The Dark Lord dipped his fingers and began to stretch himself open- the way the brunet on the book was doing- and came to his greatest realisation:

Life wasn't always like in the books.

~

For Harry Potter, the Quidditch World Cup was his awakening.

The Veela, to be precise.

They were the most beautiful creatures he had set his eyes on- with the elongated beaks and their claws, and the fireballs. He would spend nights wondering how it was like- to be teased by one of those deadly-looking claws. Were they razor-sharp? Or were they talon-like and piercing?

Would Veela have regular bodies, or the beastly winged, clawed figures in the throes of passion? Would they bite him, or rake those claws and tear his back?

Did Veela even sleep with humans?

When the Beauxbatons champion was revealed to be a part-Veela, he was ecstatic- somewhere under the apprehension and terror of being forced to take part in a competition that had killed _seventh-years,_ a small part of him was thrilling in the chance of getting to know more about Veela.

If he could get closer to Fleur, that is.

And then, he laid eyes on Viktor Krum.

Not the thick-head who danced with Hermione, of course- but the utterly mouth-watering _thing_ that jumped into the Black Lake to save her.

The half-shark animagus (?) transfiguration.

And then the next of Harry's wet dreams featured merpeople and centaurs- things that he could not openly talk about with Hermione or Ron. If anyone ever found out about his creature-fantasies, he was done for.

Being slandered in the papers for being a liar, or thrill-seeker was one thing. Having false stories and speculation plastered on the papers, while bad enough, was something he could handle; especially since he had his friends and adults to rely upon.

But being outed as some sort of sexual pervert?

Absolutely not.

For one, there wouldn't be anyone to stand beside him. He would lose his only friends.  
Harry could imagine Mrs Weasley's disappointed face, and the disgusted looks his teachers would send him.

"Potter!"

Malfoy cornered him in Myrtle's lavatory on the second floor.

It was questionable enough why Malfoy was hiding there, seeing that it was a _girls'_ toilet, but Harry was hiding there too; and it was not wise to ask questions that were only going to come back to bite him on the arse. (Not that he'd have objected to being bitten on the arse- he sadly thought.)

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

The blond was skulking around with obvious ill-intentions. "A little fishy told me you were on the merfolks' hit-list." Harry paled; but no, Malfoy wasn't going to stop there. "Is it true that you got stoned by the merpeople for molesting the squid?"

"No!!!"

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, just moments shy of calling Myrtle over to spread a rumour.

Harry flushed- with embarrassment and anger. "I didn't do _anything_ to the squid, goddamn it! It just gra- wrapped around me! To help me-"

He stopped abruptly and clenched his fists, mind flashing to that horrible, horrible night.

He had just thought of going down into the lake to ask if any of the merpeople were up for a one-night shag; he figured if people like Hagrid and Flitwick existed, cross-race relationships weren't illegal in the Wizarding World.

However, he had forgotten that he couldn't speak underwater; and a pathetic attempt at the 👉👌 gesture had gotten misinterpreted. No, he hadn't wanted to seduce the merpeople away from their spouses, a single and interested partner would have been perfectly fine.

The next thing he knew, he was swimming with all his might, shooting up to the bleakly lighted surface with a few dozen armed-and-angry mermen hot on his tail. Spears shot past, missing him by finger-breadths, and before he knew it, a large tentacle had wrapped around him and pulled him away before he could be staked on spears and harpoons.

The giant squid carried him away, cradling his exhausted body in its mass of tentacles, and left him on the shore.

It had been nice- safe and gentle- being wrapped protectively by the tentacles.

Besides, Harry would _never,_ ever even think of the squid in that way. He wasn't into animals, that was sickening, to imagine doing things to poor, mute creatures.

Harry just preferred part-human monsters.

He supposed that was no better, either.

"I suppose that's what happened to Severus' stock of Gillyweed?" Malfoy asked in mild disgust, when Harry reluctantly told him that he had merely intended to solicit the merfolk. "Well, just don't go near the lake for a while."

Harry looked up. "How did you know anyway?"

Malfoy sniffed pretentiously. "Mother thought communication skills were always beneficial, no matter the race."

"Speak Mermish, do you?" And then, "God, who else knows?"

Malfoy thought for a moment, and they both came to the same conclusion. If any of the Merfolk complained to Dumbledore, Harry would be colossally screwed. And not in the pleasant way.

The blackmail material brought them close enough for Harry to randomly accost Malfoy in abandoned corridors and relate his horny woes. Hermione was right, it really did feel better to tell someone his problems rather than bottling it up. It sometimes felt like a huge weight was lifted off his chest, and doing these 'therapy' sessions once a week kept his days bright.

Malfoy, however, was much less pleased. "Potter, what makes you think I want to hear more of your depravity?"

"Well, you already know, and you're the only one, so who cares?" Harry replied cheerfully.

Malfoy could be company enough if he was disgusted enough into silence. The blond listened with the air of an imprisoned man who had nothing better to do, and was already used to it. He'd tell his former-rival of his centaur-fantasies and of Muggle creations like the horned devil and his demons. There were no more mentions of Merpeople- he had already gotten a clear response.

"Why don't you just walk into the forest and gesticulate again? Surely the arrows would give you a more painless death than being speared and eaten raw." Malfoy asked brusquely, before whacking Harry with his Advanced Potion Making. "No, don't do that, you bloody idiot! There's a thing called 'sarcasm', you know?"

Harry curled up even more, tucking his knees under his chin and sighed. "Yeah, but who's going to sleep with a pathetic weirdo like me?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"I'm going to miss you when you go home for Christmas." He added.

The Slytherin quickly grabbed Harry by his collar. "Don't mope around during the break, or I swear to Circe, I will make the Dark Lord sound like a kinder option. Merlin knows there are enough rumours that we're shagging in broom closets or something."

Harry freed himself from the blond's clutches. "Me, shagging you? Urgh, don't make me vomit." Malfoy's eyes narrowed, and he was about to proclaim being the most desirable boy in Hogwarts, when he realised how counterproductive that would be.

~

Draco slipped into his silken pyjamas and cancelled the room's lighting charm. The blankets and quilts were toasty and soft; he had missed the bed- the one in Hogwarts could never compare to the velvety comfort of his own bed. He could just sink into its luxury and fall asleep immediately.

In fact, the new sweet-smelling candles his mother had bought were just perfect to lull him into easy dreams.

Alas, life was not perfect.

Draco yelped, jolting awake when he felt a stinging hex hit his feet. There was a demonic figure, fangs and eyes spitting fire sitting at the foot of his bed, and Draco screamed himself silly, springing back to the corner of his bed and blindly fumbling for his wand in the darkness.

Bloody Potter and his nightmarish fetish creatures.

"I don't want to fuck you!" Draco yelled. "Get away!"

"Silence, you imbecile!" Voldemort thundered. "Besides, you should be honoured to submit in my bed."

Ah, he knew that voice. But why was that monster sitting on his bed? He quickly made himself small, and squeaked. No, really, he didn't want to fuck the Dark Lord either, and besides, it was _his_ bed. "W- What brings you here, Milord?"

"I cannot sssleep..." The man-monster hissed. "The magic booksss are not working anymore."

Oh, Merlin help him. Eventually, Draco inferred that the Dark Lord wasn't 'honouring' him as a sexual partner, and that the man was here because the porn couldn't get him off anymore.

"I do not require _your_ services, boy!" Voldemort snarled. "I have... accepted... that you have a better understanding of these _affairs._ So tell me, what should I do next?"

It was Draco's turn to be flustered. Why in the name of Merlin was the Dark Lord turning to Draco for this? Honestly, the man was old enough to be his grandfather, hadn't anyone sat him down and given him The Talk?

He fumbled for a bit before deciding to be blunt. Red pupils narrowed dangerously.

"How dare you assume I'll let some worthless rat into my bed? Who do you think I am?" Cold fury swept off the Dark Lord in waves, and Draco barely missed the Cruciatus thrown at him. "I should have you torn to shreds for this."

In a fit of rage, Voldemort strode to the door, flinging it open with a violent burst of magic. He turned to glare at Draco, the red of his eyes gleaming demonically in the dark and promising much pain.

"Not so much as a stray thought- understood?"

Draco nodded frantically, and the monster exited, and in the silence of his room, he could not un-hear the soft, lonely murmur he had caught- so quiet he wasn't sure he had actually heard it.

_"Who would want to sleep with a monster like me?"_

Oh, if only the man knew.

~

Perhaps Pansy was rubbing off on him, but once the idea got into his head, Draco couldn't let go.

He was going to play matchmaker for the two dunderheads.

The chances that it would backfire was insanely high, and so was the risk of getting himself killed.

And then, there was no guarantee that even if it worked, either Potter or the Dark Lord would stop pestering him about their lack of a preferred partner, but Draco could no longer stand being pulled into this alcove, or that annex chamber to listen to any more self-flagellation.

At least he would get to keep porn mags to himself.

He owled Blaise for details- a shady place for a discreet hook-up, un-traceable ways of contacting a potential lover, illegal glamour amulets and Polyjuice potions- and once he had compiled them into a small scroll, he walked over to the Dark Lord's study and thrust them into the man's hand.

"I have an acquaintance who is rather interested in-" he faltered, " partners who aren't completely human." He noticed the minute widening of the Dark Lord's eyes, so he went on boldly. "If I may, my Lord, I could arrange a private meeting..."

Lord Voldemort shooed him out of the study with the mention of replying after giving it some thought.

And thus, Draco found himself being woken up yet again by a demonic, serpentine figure sitting on his bed. It had happened so often these days that he was used to it now. He did not even scream anymore.

"Yes." Voldemort said stiffly, looking terribly uncomfortable at the foot of his bed. "I should like to meet this acquaintance of yours. This meeting is very discreet, is it not? And he would not find out my identity in anyway?"

"Not if you choose not to disclose it, Milord. Which is why I would recommend a disguise- nothing extreme; perhaps a Naga form?"

Of course, a human form would not appeal to that pervert Potter; although Draco hid that thought tightly behind his Occlumency. The Dark Lord seemed to be satisfied, and stalked out- although the menacing effect was considerably reduced by the man's silver-striped pyjamas.

Satisfied that he had successfully brokered an anonymous hook-up, Draco went back to sleep.

When Yule break ended, Draco pulled Potter into a broom-closet and handed him a copy of the exact scroll he had given the Dark Lord, and mentioned about a 'non-human acquaintance' who was interested in a private shag.

"Just a test-run, of course," Draco said ambiguously. "The two of you can meet up and see how things go from there."

Potter's eyes lit up- the idiot didn't even ask if it was a Dark Wizard, but he did ask the race.

"Naga," Draco promptly replied. "Snake-men."

Potter flushed a shade of scarlet that would have put the Gryffindor banner to shame, and whispered something about ridiculously hot snake-men. Draco silenced him immediately, not looking forward to hearing details about snake anatomy and mating habits.

"He says he'll see you in the Hog's Head on the next Hogsmeade weekend. Be sure to chase away your little friends-"

"Yes, yes, I get it. I'm not exactly keen on the whole publicity thing, in case you haven't noticed, Malfoy."

Draco huffed, exiting the broom closet. "Could have fooled me, Potter." He shot his dirtiest glare at the few fourth-year Hufflepuffs, who were giggling upon seeing him come out of the cupboard. He glanced back and cursed when he saw Potter heading off with a spring in his steps.

Merlin, that idiot was too blithely obvious.

***


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets to meet his monster fuck-buddy.

With great guilt, Harry ditched Ron and Lavender at Madam Puddifoot’s and steered a grumbling Hermione to the Three Broomsticks, hoping he would find either Ginny or Neville there to keep her busy. He sat there with them for half an hour, eyes straying to his watch and clenching his robes to stop himself from vibrating in excitement and giving the game away.

Minutes ticked by, and when it was close to the appointed hour, Harry headed out under the excuse of a breather, and promptly made his way to the Hog’s Head. Ducking into a corner, he pulled on the glamour amulet Malfoy had given him and stared at his reflection on a shop window- it was rather unremarkable; mousy brown hair and tanned, bland features, a bit of freckles and greyish-blue eyes. The curse scar was nowhere to be seen.

Satisfied, he entered the pub and ordered a glass of Gillywater. A man in bandages snorted at the drink and Harry shot him a glare before heading to a free table. It was three minutes to five, and he sipped the Gillywater slowly, glancing around the room for any sign of snake parts.

Precisely at the chime of the clock, someone in hooded robes entered, asked for a shot of Firewhiskey and began to wait.

Harry approached the new customer, and was very satisfied to see two glowing red eyes with slit pupils. That had to be the Naga. He sat down on the stool beside the Naga and introduced himself as the interested party a mutual friend had mentioned. The Naga turned slowly to fix its unblinking, reptilian eyes on Harry, and asked if this mutual friend was a cowardly ferret, and Harry snorted, nodding his head. A pale hand extended from the robe and Harry shook it.

Illegal businesses happened all the time in Hog’s Head, so the barman didn’t pay it much attention.

“So, do we get down to business?” The Naga asked in detached, sibilant tones.

Malfoy had even booked them a room in Umber Lane, the nearby place for all shady deeds. The Naga apparated there, taking Harry along, and they landed in a gaudily furnished atrium. The formalities were over quickly, and the two could climb into their rented love-nest in peace.

Harry put up privacy charms and wards that he had found in the Half-Blood Prince’s textbook, and the Naga hissed in approval. When the boy turned, the Naga was unclasping its hood.

His breath hitched.

Every inch of the Naga’s pale skin was covered in tiny scales, from the sharp, angular head to the unnaturally long limbs.

Harry edged towards the creature subconsciously, shedding his cloak and observing details- a greenish tint to the otherwise morbidly pale skin, the lipless mouth stretched taut over fanged jaws, the iridescence of scales in the flickering candlelight, and the claws-

Oh, Merlin, there were claws!

Beautiful claws that were now untying the ribbon that kept the Naga’s robe up. And then, the robe was sliding down a slender body- projecting ribs, concave abdomen lined with large, flat scales and-

-a long, sinewy tail that was swaying hypnotically, brushing teasingly against the clawed legs.

Harry swallowed and stared lustfully. “May I- touch you?”

The Naga nodded, and Harry stepped closer, experimentally running the pads of his fingers over smooth scales.

Despite the confidence the creature projected, there was an underlying vulnerability in the way it stood, exposed for his scrutiny and yet daring him to say something disparaging.

Harry knelt and began worshipping that lovely body, peppering kisses along each limb, pausing playfully to lick where the cloaca ought to be, and up the Naga’s sternum, throat and jaw.

“What do I call you?” He asked.

“That will not be necessary.” The creature replied, reaching out to unbutton Harry’s shirt. The Naga’s claws were cold, and trailed down the boy’s chest, brushing his sensitive nipples. “You will top, yes?”

Harry nodded, wind knocked out of him as the Naga pushed him onto the bed and climbed over him. He fumbled to pull down his trousers, and bucked his hips automatically when he felt a scaled hand drag down his clothed erection.

He moaned wantonly, and struggled to push the pants off- wanting to feel the rough texture on his bare cock, but the Naga held him down with an iron grip and began teasing him through the elastic underwear.

It wasn’t enough- the scales shimmered in the dim light as the creature’s hand moved and it wasn’t until Harry had been reduced to a sobbing mess that the Naga tore off the come-drenched pants and let him have its textured palms- and sharp claws, by extension.

The claws raked up his length painfully but Harry was too needy and addled that it merely added to the pleasure. The tip of a lone clawed thumb pressed hotly on his balls, as if they were about to be speared, and Harry shot up, startled; fear inking the edges of his consciousness. His hand automatically grasped the threatening appendage, but didn’t move-

Because, fuck it, Harry was embarrassingly hard.

He wet his lips and released his grip on the Naga’s wrist, and let the latter milk him with agonising, sharp claws. And then it didn’t let Harry rest, but kept stroking until he was up again.

The overstimulation ached, and the Naga seemed to realise it- for it let go and straddled him, legs apart, tail wrapping around Harry’s dick and pulling it flush against its thigh. The clawed hands began to trail up and down the Naga’s belly, until it dipped onto its groin and circled the scale covering its cloaca.

Harry gulped, pupils blown open and blind to everything that was not the sultry creature above him.

And then the hand stopped moving, and instead redirected its attention onto Harry’s face, a sharp thumb forcing its way into his mouth while the others clawed playfully on his throat and tightened.

Clearly, the Naga had a power-fetish.

It seemed to be waiting for something, but Harry was too gone to notice the exasperated sigh when he put his mouth onto the scale and suckled. His fingers mapped the folds where the Naga’s legs and tail met its torso and explored further. The underside of the tail- particularly to the base- seemed very sensitive, and there, he made circles with his thumbs, drawing a long, soft hiss from the creature.

Harry’s tongue tried to press against the large scale again when he returned his attention between the iridescent legs, and the Naga suddenly pinned him onto the mattress with a burst of magic.

 _‘Idiot boy.’_ The Naga hissed in Parseltongue, and Harry had to keep a straight face and pretend he didn’t understand. “You can tell us apart by the length and taper of our tails- did no one mention my species in your Magical Creatures class?”

Huh?

Well, Hagrid had _not_ mentioned Nagas or any such desirable creatures, because Harry would have noticed. But then, Hagrid genuinely didn’t seem to be interested in anything with human-like intelligence.

And then he shook his head furiously, because Hagrid and his monsters were not the images he wanted when he was about to fuck- and also because the Naga had shifted so that it’s groin was at level with Harry’s face.

Two clawed fingers sank deep under the scale, hooked and pulled it up- exposing a fleshy opening inches away from Harry’s mouth.

But before he could taste them, two glistening, slick organs slid out and pressed wetly against his lips. Harry started and stared up at the Naga, who took his moment of surprise to force its hemipenes into his mouth.

So that’s what the Naga meant when it- _he-_ spoke about tail shapes... Harry had assumed female Nagas would have bosoms or something, which was stupid when he thought about it, because serpents laid eggs. Of course they wouldn’t have any use for breasts.

“I am not a laboratory study, brat.” The Naga snapped, thrusting once and waiting expectantly.

Of course, Harry nodded. His mistake. He was in bed with the creature of his dreams; analysis could wait. He began to suck the Naga off in earnest, until the Naga’s body went taut and the creature held his head in place to empty the load into Harry’s mouth.

The Naga sat back on Harry’s belly. There was a lack of satisfaction in the way his lipless mouth pursed, and Harry frowned. This encounter had been very pleasant, but perhaps... Harry hadn’t been a good partner?

Really, he was no good, was he? It was the Naga who had been doing all the work- and if he wanted a repeat session, Harry would have to give more.

He pulled the Naga back onto his chest, delighting in the sensation of the wet hemipenes pressed between their bodies, and wrapped one hand around the creature’s tail and squeezed.

It was like a bolt of electricity- the Naga went rigid, and then nearly vibrated with excitement- and Harry took it as encouragement to play more with the tail, one finger making its way up into the cloaca.

His dick twitched back to life, and he heard another soft Parseltongue grumble about teenage libido, and a thrill rose up his spine- the Naga was older.

Much older than him, likely.

There were so few monsters willing to fuck that Harry had learnt not to discriminate, but having an older (and probably more experienced) creature was really very...

His grip on the Naga’s hips tightened, and he began to rock them together, his dick sliding smoothly between the Naga’s hemipenes while he fumbled to lift the scale so that he could move his finger properly-

A string of hissed curses left the creature’s mouth as Harry’s fingers made heated friction on both the hemipenes and the sensitive inner flesh of the cloaca. Harry hissed incoherently in reply when the claws tightened on his shoulder, sinking into his skin and drawing blood.

“Damned Merlin, boy, put it in before I curse you to oblivion!” The Naga hissed, infuriated by the teasing. Harry grinned, licking a strip up the creature’s chest before murmuring, ‘Measure for measure.’

He fiddled that one insubstantial finger inside the cloaca until the hemipenes were weeping, aching for release, flushed a bloody mauve against the pink of his own, human cock. The Naga hissed and spat, shaking his hips and rutting desperately, trying to angle himself so that Harry’s cock could take him in a single plunge.

“Enough!” The Naga screeched, glaring through wide, unblinking red eyes. “Fuck me!”

Harry huffed onto the creature’s scaly shoulders and gripped his hips, before impaling the Naga in a quick, fluid motion. The tightness felt heavenly around him- and the Naga’s pre-ejaculate had accumulated at the opening, making his movements slick and smooth.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Harry breathed, tightening his hands before starting to thrust in and out of the cloaca. He had started slow, inching into the opening to let his partner adjust to the intrusion, gradually increasing his pace and rolling his hips to rub on the cloaca walls. An uncharacteristic moan escaped the Naga, and Harry realised that the hemipenes were getting squeezed between them.

He promptly grabbed them both and pressed them to his pounding length, stroking them. When his pace fell, the Naga wrapped his arms around Harry and began bouncing on the human, cursing and gasping and moaning- until he felt his brain rattle around his skull- and even then, he could not stop, needing more, needing to come-

Harry came first. The double stimulus of the hemipenes, and the inner walls of the cloaca clenching around him overloaded his brain, and he shuddered, emptying his spunk into the Naga. The latter made a few impatient moans, and Harry worked the hemipenes to completion, until the Naga bit his own hand to muffle his sounds as he came, covering the wizard’s hands and flaccid cock in silvery spurts.

Exhausted, he flopped back, and the Naga leaned against the headboard, gazing dazedly at the ejaculate dribbling down his tail and abdomen.

“Well.” The Naga said, waving his wand to clean the cooling liquids off. “It was...”

“Brilliant.” Harry said, radiant and sated. “Can we do this again?”

The creature shuffled its taloned feet, crumpling the bed sheets further. “This was meant to be a one-time thing.”

Harry wilted. The Naga sighed.

“But you’re not half-bad, so I’ll see you next Hogsmeade weekend?”

The grin returned full-force to Harry’s face, but it soon fell to panic when he cast a Tempus and realised it was night- well past curfew- and it was only after much begging that the Naga agreed to drop him off at Hogsmeade.

They landed in the apparation zone near the Hogs’ Head, and Harry hurried away in the direction of Scrivenshafts’, which had a passage in its backyard that led to the foot of Ravenclaw tower.

The Naga waited until the boy’s figure had ducked behind the stationery shop, and then apparated back to Malfoy Manor.

Voldemort had left his temporary residence with the intention of riding a dick so as to get it out of his system.

He returned with sore genitalia and limbs, a cloaca full of come that he could not bring himself to vanish so soon, and a new, lewd side of himself that could, quite possibly, cost him the war and his reputation.

~

Harry clambered out of the tunnel behind the bronze suits of armour, shrugging on the invisibility cloak and praying to the dead souls watching over him that he would not be caught.

Of course, his luck could only be counted on in times of mortal peril, so he tripped on a trick step and tumbled onto none other than Professor Snape, who took one look at him and noticed the scent of gillywater and sweat and his freshly-shagged look, and dragged him off to McGonagall’s quarters with sarcastic commentary on how the Golden Boy couldn’t be bothered by silly things like curfew, safety and murderous Dark Lords when he had better things to be doing, like being out on the pull.

Also, Harry had the misfortune of snapping back that Snape was merely being a mean bastard because no one would have wanted to shag _him_ when he had been in school. Snape looked ready to throttle him, when McGonagall opened her doors and pulled Harry in for a sternly worded session, followed by the promise of a month of detention- with Snape- and fifty points off the hourglass.

But, in the end, when Harry climbed into bed that night, he could only think about how bloody amazing the evening had been.

~

Teenage hormones were much, much stronger than self-preservation and respect to elders- (both of which Harry had little to begin with) and he found himself sneaking away with the Naga every single Hogsmeade weekend.

Although, he had plenty of courage, which ended up in him asking the Naga about any other monsters who would be interested in fucking a human. Especially of feline ancestry.

“Felines?” The Naga asked, puzzled. If his reptilian eyes could have shut, he would have been blinking in surprise. “What do you need cats for?”

Harry purred shamelessly, popping the hemipenes out of his mouth to reply. “I hear they have barbed dicks...”

“What, two isn’t enough for you?” The Naga snapped. Harry shrugged and went back to suckling greedily on the latter’s double lengths. He had only ever been with one kind of creature, so it was fair of him to want to experiment a little.

The Naga grabbed his jaw and set a punishing pace for even daring to think of such a thing in the bed of a magnificent creature as himself. Harry was sure his partner had strong Legilimency; and got his answer when the Naga replied that Harry tended to broadcast his thoughts for anyone with a base in Legilimency to read.

Their pillow talk varied depending on the mood- it was almost always sarcastic barbs at each other or filthy teasing, but there were occasions when the Naga was in a mood to lecture and boast, and would indulge Harry’s questions about monster reproductive physiology.

“So, barbed dicks.” Harry prompted, trusting the Naga’s mind-reading skills to decipher what he had mumbled around the mouthful of hemipenes.

To his immense surprise, the Naga was seriously considering it. After he had tied Harry to the bedposts and ridden him dry, the creature perched on his lap and folded his supple scaled legs in a very exposing pose, and pretended to think about it.

“I’ll owl you if I do find a werecat willing to bed a brat.”

Harry’s whoop of joy did nothing to lessen the Naga’s annoyance; and the creature apparated away without dropping him off at Hogsmeade. Thankfully, Harry had gotten the hang of apparating (although still without a license) and managed to get himself to Hogwarts in one piece.

Three weeks later, a nondescript barn owl landed on his window-sill at the Gryffindor tower, with a single sentence- ‘Look out for a red scarf.’

And so, Harry experienced the ecstasy that was a werecat’s barbed dick- he had the gorgeous fanged feline mount him so hard that he needed to take a day off classes- and then he prodded the Naga to set him up with more non-human partners.

This kept his weekends schedule so busy; Harry was neglecting his duties as Quidditch Captain, and even Hogsmeade weekends were simply not enough that he learnt to put his father’s old cloak and map into better use, and snuck out of the castle on every free weekend he could get. Eventually, McGonagall was tired of lecturing him and handing out detentions- so Harry was banned from Hogsmeade for the year.

Not that it could stop him.

There was such a wide range of creatures to experience- a mercreature of dubious origins whom he had to prepare for long hours before taking, (they spent the evening frolicking in a Scottish loch and creeped out several Muggles, a siren for whom Harry had to apparate to the warmer Mediterranean seas and enjoyed having raunchy fishtail sex on the beach, a Wendigo with a luscious Western accent, a drake who turned out to be a hermaphroditic species, a handsome Albanian centaur, a Veela in its transformed state (Harry had insisted)... and so on.

Of course, he altered his adventures between the Naga and other one-night-stand partners- the former quickly becoming his confidante for all lewd dreams and desires. There was even a desperate, foolhardy attempt to sneak the Naga into the Great Hall to pound him onto the High Table, which was ruined halfway by Snape’s nightly patrol. They had to flee with their bits hanging about, and by the time they reached the foot of the Ravenclaw tower, Harry had lost the mood.

Also, he had not expected to find Luna Lovegood curled up outside the bronze knocker. The girl stared right through his Invisibility cloak, and greeted him with an idle comment about wrackspurts.

Harry froze.

The Naga massaged his shoulders encouragingly, and prompted him to flee the other way- into the dungeons, where they bumped into Draco Malfoy.

Was the whole castle up and about on the one day Harry decided to sneak his partner inside?

For his part, Malfoy blanched when the Invisibility Cloak fell off, dragged them both into a dark alcove and proceeded to yell at Harry (didn’t use his name, thank Merlin, the blond had enough sense to not give the game away) for the sheer stupidity of bringing a creature into the castle to fulfil his weird fetishes.

The Naga watched the encounter amusedly, all arousal gone, and the three came to a decision- that the creature would leave through the Honeydukes tunnel, and Harry would go back to his tower quietly.

Of course, luck never favoured Harry out of life-threatening situations.

He and Malfoy had been sighted the previous night, inside one of the alcoves that copulating students preferred more than broom-closets. By breakfast, it was hot news in the whole school that Harry was shagging Malfoy.

Ron would not speak to him for days, returning his entreaties with a wounded, betrayed look. Ginny was even more betrayed- for he had drunkenly kissed her once during a Quidditch victory party, and she had mistook it as the start of a relationship. Hermione tried to be supportive, even though she could not comprehend for the love of God why he would want a disgusting, bigoted prat like Malfoy.

Ah, such was life.

The bright side was that it gave him free rein to now drag an unwilling Malfoy into alcoves in broad daylight to wax poetic about the miracles that were creature bodies.

~

Summer came by and went, and Draco sighed, rubbing his temples when he realised his last train-ride to Hogwarts was going to be disrupted by a sex-deprived pervert.

The Chosen One sauntered into the Slytherin coach, much to the surprise and annoyance of Draco’s housemates, and plopped down opposite him.

“Hullo, Draco. I’ve missed your little friend.” He leered, and wasn’t that look utterly out-of-place on Potter’s Righteous and Noble™ face? The bastard was getting better and better at ignoring Pansy’s Death Glares. Behind the Scarhead, Blaise was making lewd faces, and Draco groaned, got up and dragged Potter out of the compartment.

“Could you be any more suggestive?” He snapped. “I intend to actually get shagged this year.”

“We’re in a toilet, Malfoy. You’re not helping your cause.”

And so they were. A very cramped toilet cubicle. The brunet quickly cast a ‘Muffliato’.

“I’ve been thinking,” Potter began, “Is he a Dark wizard?”

The blond snorted. A dark wizard, ha bloody ha.

“Listen, ferret. I’ve got the sodding Dark Lord after my arse-”

Draco could not hold it in, he dissolved into fits of helpless laughter. That statement was true on so many levels.

“-and I need to know if your ‘friend’ is going to offer me up on a platter when Voldemort asks for it!” Potter completed crossly and glared.

“I wager you’ll do the offering yourself, Potty,” Draco choked out, and hastily remedied; “Brave Gryffindor that you are.”

“I don’t want our relationship to bungle up things for the Light.”

Relationship.

Mordred and Morgana, was Potter courting death? It was one thing to bugger the Dark Lord, but to use the cursed R-word, like they were some sort of item? Draco visibly shuddered. And then noticed the hurt behind the green eyes.

“You- you actually _like_ him?”

“If I did?” Potter scowled defensively, and Draco shook his head in exasperation. Why was it that all the bizarre things happened to Potter?

“Well then, you’ll be pleased to know that our mutual friend hasn’t been out on the pull all summer.”

Because he hadn’t. Draco had been dealing with an extremely sexually frustrated Dark Lord (read, staying out of the wizard’s way as if he was a natural calamity or a rabid werewolf) and the denizens of Malfoy Manor had gotten Crucio-ed at least thrice a day.

Potter’s face brightened like Christmas had come early, and finally, the Merlin-damned pervert left, whistling cheerfully.

Unfortunately, this did not put an end to Draco’s endless suffering- as Potter had changed from narrating his depraved fantasies to narrating his adventures with the ‘Naga’ and whatever other inhuman fetish creatures the boy met in Umber Lane.

Things got out of hand when one night, Draco woke up to a Stinging hex and realised Potter had broken into the Slytherin dormitory, and was sitting at the foot of his bed.

“What the actual fuck, Potter!”

The bastard hushed him and grinned dazedly. “He brought a friend tonight.”

“You aren’t supposed to be here!” Draco cried, his voice rising an octave. Now that he had mentioned it, Draco could smell sex and absinthe on him- and the wandlight only served to illuminate the blissfully shagged, thoroughly bruised and utterly revolting appearance.

Potter grinned and flopped on the bed. “Parselmouth privileges. Jealous?”

Draco furiously kicked him onto the floor. When it seemed Potter wasn’t going anywhere without waxing poetic on this new monster, he groaned. “At least go shower or something.”

The boy complied mutely, washing up before climbing back onto Draco’s bed, and proceeded to ruin the blond’s night with a blow-by-blow account of Mr Doubledick-Naga and Mr Tentacles-Stings-and-Suckers. Draco realised with dawning horror the reason for the Dark Lord’s obsession over experimental cross-creature transformation potions and Time-Turners through the summer.

The madman had slaved Snape and Bode over it, citing some grand world-domination scheme, and as Potter unbuttoned his shirt and showed Draco the sting and sucker marks, the latter didn’t know whether to laugh or scream.

There were plenty of fish in the sea, plenty of other creatures to bugger, but the Naga held a special spot in Harry’s heart.

Simply because the creature had taken the trouble of disguising himself to fulfil whatever fantasy of Harry’s. Perhaps it was a mutual kink, or perhaps the Naga was just possessive of his fuckbuddies, (Harry did not mind either) but this fact- that a complete stranger had been so willing and accommodating- made his heart swell with affection.

“I’m in love.” Harry declared, burrowing into Malfoy’s blanket.

The blond prat cursed under his breath. “Don’t tell him, he’ll probably skin you alive.” And then paused. “On second thought, do tell. I’ll be rid of you at last.”

“You’d miss me.”

“I think not.”

“You would.”

~

Lord Voldemort had always thought that performing fellatio was a form of domination and that to be on the giving end was incredibly humiliating. He had also never thought that being proven wrong would lead to happiness or satisfaction on any level.

But it seemed, he had underestimated the sexual act, again. Who knew what a power-rush it was, to hold the boy in place and take charge of the pace- to hear the mewls and moans as the lithe, tanned body came undone at the will of his tongue, the utter helplessness of his ~~victim~~ lover as he begged for release.

His long, spindly fingers played inside the boy’s arse, driving in and out with filthy sounds and abusing the prostate. The boy bucked and pleaded incoherently, fingers clenched around Voldemort’s bobbing head, while being kept in place by the latter’s tail and legs.

“Use my mouth.” The Dark Lord commanded, loosening his vice-like grip on the boy’s thighs.

The heavy cock rested on his forked, black tongue for a moment, letting him breathe.

Voldemort sank deep and clenched his throat around the length, gifting release. Red eyes peered up, taking in the sight of flushed, panting face and wet eyes.

The boy was plain and unattractive, but something about him resonated within the Dark Lord. They were like a pair of Vanishing Cabinets- separate and connected, giving and receiving, sometimes a little faulty or bumpy but never really out of sync. It did not help that sometimes, at the throes of orgasm, Voldemort could feel his ecstasy magnified- a direct connection of their minds not facilitated by Legilimency.

It was the reason he had started idly looking up bonds and soul-connections. While he did not believe in besotted stupidity like soul-mates and entwined fates, he knew (from unfortunate experience) that mental connections were a very real thing in the Magical world.

Take the connection with his prophesied nemesis, for example.

...

Ugh, Potter was the last thing he wanted in his mind right now.

He guided his lover’s hips into motion, wrapping his mouth tight around the heat. The young wizard fucked his mouth in earnest, impaling himself on Voldemort’s fingers with each jerk of his hips. The pace slowly grew more frenzied, the blunt tip brushing his palate as the boy tried to drive in deeper. The boy’s fingers cupped his cheeks, and Voldemort slyly unhinged his jaw.

It was something his real, serpentine body could do as well, and the cock suddenly pushed farther down his throat than he had expected. The Naga’s nose kept smacking uncomfortably into the boy’s taut abdomen as the relentless assault of his mouth went on, and the Dark Lord noted a considerable advantage his resurrected body had given him.

He clawed into the boy’s buttocks when the hips slammed onto his face, cock impossibly deep in his throat. Wandlessly, he undid the spell that had bound the boy, and projected into the latter’s mind.

“I gift you your release.”

His mouth flooded with the bitter, salty liquid; the body in his arms shuddering with each desperate spurt before collapsing into the Dark Lord’s lap.

“That was incredible.” The boy whispered against his throat.

Voldemort hummed thoughtfully. When had he ever _not_ been incredible?

He did not let the boy rest for more than a few minutes- skilled fingers were coaxing his spent cock to life. After all, Voldemort had come here to be fucked, and he would not leave without his cloaca full.

The boy pounded him onto the creaky spring mattress, his hemipenes being stroked against tanned thighs and his tail curled around the boy’s waist. The young wizard grazed his scales with teeth and nail, and the Dark Lord responded in kind by sinking his fangs into the boy’s collar, barely holding back his 500 psi bite-strength so that he would not damage his lover.

“You turned seventeen this year, yes?” Voldemort asked, curling lazily around the boy to mooch on his body warmth. At the nod, he continued. “Come spend the winter holidays with me.”

Bright brown eyes stared at him, something deep and unreadable beyond them. “Alright.”

Alright? That was it?

Voldemort narrowed his eyes. “I thought you might have people you wished to spend Christmas with.”

“And I want to spend it with you.” The boy smiled indolently. “No one’s ever done something for me the way you have.” He interrupted the Dark Lord before the older wizard could deny it. “I knew it was you under all the creature disguises- you kept hissing in Parseltongue all the time.”

The Dark Lord froze. Thankfully, his Naga disguise served as a good excuse.

“But that’s okay, I prefer the real you over everyone else- even the drake and the cross-hybrid.” And then the Merlin-damned boy dropped the next bomb. “I- er, I’m not sure how to put this... but I’m in love with you.”

Voldemort spluttered and stopped functioning for a moment.

“Hey, say something. Don’t leave me hanging.”

He gathered himself. “Ugh, _love._ It’s disgusting.”

Contrary to his expectations, the boy didn’t wilt. Instead, he grinned even more brightly. “I don’t care. It’s the little things that matter more to me anyway, and your actions speak for themselves.” The brat had the audacity to wink at him, but somehow, the Dark Lord did not mind.

~

Draco Malfoy groused miserably in the Slytherins’ compartment.

Potter was right beside him, chatting amiably to Crabbe and Goyle, who only blinked back dumbly. And the worst of it was that Potter had been told by ‘someone’ to stick around Draco.

“I thought you’d be going to the Weasels, Potter. You’ve been comfy in their fleapit long enough.”

And then Draco wished he hadn’t said a word- for the blasted git only leered even more suggestively. “I told them this year I’d be going back to the Dursleys- my relatives’ place.” He clarified with a grimace.

“Is it true they’re _Muggle_ relatives?” Draco sneered.

Potter scowled. “Not telling you. How do I know you won’t snitch on me to Voldemort first thing?”

Everyone in the carriage flinched at the name- except for Draco, who had not heard something as hilarious in ages.

The Dark Lord was waiting in Kings’ Cross.

Granted, he had the Naga disguise on, and Potter had donned his own glamour amulet, but their reunion was something Draco wished he could unsee.

“Whoa, you two _live together?”_ The git asked in surprise, jealousy colouring his tone.

 _Try living with the bastard snakeface for a while and see for yourself,_ Draco sneered inwardly and reluctantly held onto the ‘Naga’s’ arm to apparate back to Malfoy Manor.

When Potter left (if he left), Draco decided he would get all the elves to scrub the Manor from top to bottom, every nook and cranny, and burn sulphur in all the hearths. He had found them abusing the candles and silverware and even his Father’s eagle quills; spotted them fucking in the library, the dining table, the garden- and basically everywhere else.

The two creeps had made the Manor thoroughly uninhabitable, they made googly-eyes across the table during meals and His Highness left Draco to babysit Potter when he was busy with his Dark Lord duties.

On the bright side, it made the Dark Lord happy; nobody (on their side) had gotten tortured in days.

“Merlin, how thick can you get?” Draco asked, watching Potter rub his scar. It hadn’t been hurting for a while; instead throbbing with a pleasant warmth that surprised the brunet.

Potter indignantly replied that usually, even when Voldemort was happy, the scar would ache and bleed.

That was it.

Draco had made the mistake of hitching them together; now he would get their identities revealed and repent for his past sins.

Over the following days, he started leaving clues everywhere for the two thickheads to find. And by Merlin, was it hard! It had been easier to teach Crabbe and Goyle to correctly prepare potion ingredients.

As they say, Love is blind.

It was time to resort to greater sabotage

~

“Is it done, Wormtail?” Voldemort glanced into the potions lab where Pettigrew was bumbling around getting ingredients for Snape.

The rat nodded nervously.

The lipless mouth curved into a dangerous smile. “Good. Bring it to the Cistern Court. And milk Nagini’s venom once you’re done.”

At the weak, trembling ‘Yes m’lord’, the Dark Lord headed to bathe for the ritual.

He would undo this neither human nor snake look that Wormtail’s botched up resurrection potion had created.

Half an hour later, he was slipping off his robes and stepping into the biggest cauldron Malfoy’s gold could get. Snape had filled it to three-quarters with a regenerative draught, Pettigrew hobbled over with a vial of Nagini’s venom.

The snake venom, combined with the ash of fertile Runespoor eggs, Wormtail’s other hand, chopped hvitwyrms and a half-burnt phoenix-feather would melt down his current body and regenerate it. It was an expensive potion; but history had mentioned its uses in reviving a brutally damaged body or in ancient cosmetic potions the likes of which Cleopatra had been rumoured to bathe in.

There was something in Voldemort that preened at the thought of enjoying the same luxury as the ancient Queen of Egypt. Who’d have thought a raggedy orphan from the dirtier parts of Woolwich would end up where he was?

As the potion began to take hold of his physical being, Voldemort concentrated on the form he wanted to attain.

Back in the manor, Draco Malfoy persuaded one monsterfucking prat to head down to the Gilded Gazebo down the East Wing. Apparently, there would be all sorts of monsters in the apple woods nearby; monsters willing to bed him.

The ‘Naga’ had not turned up for two days, and a certain horny teenager was feeling frustrated.

Satisfied, Draco watched Potter merrily make his way to the gazebo, knowing that the easiest way from the Opal Suite to the East wing was through Cistern Court.

He followed the brunet at a safe distance, intending not to leave it to chance about Potter and the Dark Lord finding out each other’s identities. As if right on cue, the Dark Lord grandly rose out of the cauldron, arms outstretched and Pettigrew grovelling on the floor in agony and servility.

Potter baulked at the sight, stumbling back as if he had seen it all before. (He had, not that Draco would know about it.)

“V- Voldemort?!?”

The Dark Lord turned. “Brat.” He said fondly, smiling at the disguised Potter.

“You look different.” Potter pointed out.

Of course he looked different; he had rejected his half-formed serpentine body to complete the transformation into a near-Naga. Gone was the waxy skin, replaced by shimmering bluish scales, even longer claws on both hands and feet (and a tiny gecko tail, Circe, Draco was sure he never wanted to see that sight again.) The Dark Lord had chosen to keep to bald noselessness though, and his eyes and face were still almost the same.

“And you’re naked.”

“Wormtail, robe me.”

The rat snivelled pathetically on the mosaic-tiled floor until he had been given another silver hand. Modesty thus preserved, the Dark Lord turned to Potter.

“I’ve fully transformed.” The lipless mouth smiled. “Do you like it?”

Potter gaped dumbly, oddly torn between disbelief and horrified arousal. “You- you’re Voldemort.” And then in a higher octave, “I’ve been shagging _Voldemort...”_

“Come now, darling. You told me yourself that I was the best out of all your beastly partners.” He gathered the dumbfounded boy into an affectionate half-embrace, squeezing his shoulder. Potter reluctantly returned it. “It’s all there in your head- you can’t resist my charms, can you?”

The boy flushed and burrowed into the Dark Lord’s now clothed chest. “You’ll now need me for the warmth, you properly cold-blooded creature.”

“Now you can’t blame me if I kill in cold-blood.”

Potter smiled tenderly. “That was a very bad pun.”

Draco watched in horror as the Dark Lord drew Potter into a lascivious kiss, and decided that, even upon the pain of death, this catastrophe had to be averted. Dumbledore and his band of goody-two-shoes minions would be proud of him at that moment, thought the blond as he darted out of his hiding place and threw a Spellbreaker at Potter’s amulet; an obscure magic-cancellation curse that had been outlawed by the Ministry back in the 1800s, but religiously taught to all budding dark wizards of the Black line.

One moment, the Dark Lord was embracing his chosen partner; he had been switched with the Chosen One the next. Enraged, Voldemort clutched the Boy-Who-Lived and threw a very vengeful Cruciatus at the insolent Malfoy boy.

The blond writhed in agony while the dismayed Dark Lord surveyed his prophesied nemesis.

“Harry Potter...” The Dark Lord began in his high, cold voice, “Always poking into my private matters. Tell me, Harry, what should I do with you?”

Harry stared. Malfoy had broken his amulet, and he no longer had a disguise to turn to. He looked at his parents’ murderer- his predestined enemy- his beloved monster fuck-buddy (this was so frustrating, damn it!) and made up his mind.

“Bend over and let me poke into your private matters.” Harry replied boldly.

Voldemort keened uncharacteristically and covered his mouth. “I beg your pardon?”

“We’ll do it in yonder cistern.” He grinned. “I know you enjoyed the underwater adventures.” Without waiting for an answer, Harry dragged Voldemort to the water cistern in the court, ignoring Draco’s wretched screams about it being a priceless white-nephrite sculpture from Burma.

Many days later, at the end of the Christmas break, the Hogwarts express returned with no Harry Potter, and that same evening, a letter arrived for Headmaster Dumbledore which effectively ended the war with a truce.

***

> Epilogue: From then on, Draco Malfoy wisely kept his porn stash in his bedroom’s hidden escape tunnel. No one used it anyway, and that was one place the Dark Lord could not enter; hidden rooms opened only to those of the bloodline, and getting caught by his father was literally the lesser of two evils.
> 
> ~

**The End.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drakes (half-dragons) have armoured dicks.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted in the Room of Requirement by [Arualiaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arualiaa/pseuds/Arualiaa)
> 
> Prompt: Voldemort has always, always wanted to try to bottom, but he's too paranoid to trust anyone enough with what he perceives as a vulnerable position. and after his resurrection, he's given up on sex at all, knowing himself to be too inhuman for anyone to want.  
> Unbeknownst to him, a certain ballsy Gryffindor is a monsterfucker and would absolutely love to put him in his place after years of being mortal enemies.


End file.
